


The Road Trip

by Lucky7



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2611082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky7/pseuds/Lucky7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leon’s latest scam results in a journey to rescue one of TM team members…<br/>( S4: Leon, Reese, Fusco, Finch, Shaw, Bear; POV various)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_It’s always the same: a sunny day and the whole of the city moves outdoors to eat lunch!_  
And of course it’s also a day when techie worker bees with their laptops claim squatter’s rights to all the available tables …

Ok, he’ll admit he could have just taken his food back to the cruiser and ate it in the car. But who wants to spend a lunch break watching some attitude-on-wheels jumping curbs with a skateboard, or old ladies waddle by pulling groceries in their two-wheeled carts? Trees and grass make for a much better scene.

Fusco carefully lowers himself onto the newspaper covering part of the grimy seat, placing the bag containing the two wrapped fritters next to him as he balances the now less-than-cold soda on the narrow arm of the bench. It had taken him the better part of twenty minutes to find a place to sit down as he groused his way down one park path, then another.

This particular bench backs up to a large bush and is placed conveniently under the spreading branches of an old oak. Nice shade in the summer…but also a magnet for all the feathered residents of the park, with the inevitable result that everything under it tends to be ‘painted’ white.  
Still he counts himself lucky to have found the bench not yet occupied - though grimacing at the peeling paint on the worn slates beside him, covered as they were with suspicious white splats, maybe it wasn’t just luck.

Fortunately the park’s trash bins usually contain at least one relatively clean newspaper that can be used as a seat cover…or he’d be finishing his lunch standing up. Again.

He reaches into the bag, his coffee coated taste buds already anticipating a cleansing explosion of some new and different flavors. Reese…ah…Riley - _damn, he doesn’t know what to call him now_ \- doesn’t know what he’s missing! The falafels make an absolute best meal. Well, second best. The first being the spicy redneck hot dog from Crif’s. Mmm-mmm. Enough to make a saint cry!

But he knows his now partner has different tastes, preferring those deli sandwiches. Of course maybe that’s also why the guy doesn’t carry around 50 extra pounds… Fusco frowns, weighing the wrapped fritter in one hand. _Meh._ So what if the stuff is high cal. He’s got a body to support!

With a sigh he settles in for a culinary treat.

 _His now partner._ Isn’t that a hoot…the Man in a Suit his partner! The same guy who tormented him for how many years? And suddenly it all changed; suddenly Wonder Boy starts showing up on homicide cases wearing a badge, and as a NYPD cop he’s expected to play along with that charade! But what else can he do? He’d like to know what’s really going on - but as per usual the big guy is not talking to him. About that anyway. Still, it’s just not a situation he trusts.

Fusco unwraps the foil from the warm fritter, while his conscious roams through a forest of fragmented thoughts, pulling on one branch then another.

So what’s happened to the Professor? He and his hired gun always worked in tandem, and now Reese...uh…Riley…seems to be pretty much flying solo, with the geek nowhere around. _Strange. Really strange_. Even more so is his own willingness to cover for his partner’s blunders - like that shooting of a perp in the middle of a crowd! _Jeeze!_

Well, Reese better straighten up and fly right, ‘cause he not going risk _his_ career backing that kind of crazy stuff. Not with this new captain on board. He’ll throw the guy a life preserver every once in a while, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to jump in after him!

The falafel’s garlic flavor reaches the cop’s nostrils, his mouth salivating as his stomach - being in total agreement for the action to follow - growls its encouragement. It’s been several hours since breakfast…

“Don’t turn around, Detective!”

Fusco freezes with a falafel half way to his mouth…until his brain does a quick archive search and certain data points register. He relaxes, continues his motion and attacks the falafel, careful to keep the tahini sauce from dripping on his tie. _Ruined two already this week!_

“You make a really lousy spy, Leon,” he finally sputters around a large bite of chickpeas. Using the flimsy napkin to wipe his mouth with one hand, he gestures with the wrapped fritter in the other to the empty space beside him. “You’ve been made. Might as well come out and sit down.”

The bush rustles behind him and slowly the con artist slips around the bench to gingerly lower himself to the seat, seemingly unconcerned there’s no newspaper protecting _his_ dark suit pants from the white deposits on the bench.

“How did you know it was me?” the little man asks, his face a furrowed path of perplexity as he looks around nervously.

Nothing new, Fusco thinks. Ever since he’d been introduced to the slightly built man, the guy has been worried about one person or another coming after him. And probably with good reason, as despite all the blustering last year about wanting “to do good, save innocent people”, the scammer has yet to pass up an opportunity to make a quick, and always dubious return on an investment. With the predictable result that there’s usually some angry mark out there looking for the little man.

Why John insists on helping this loser is beyond his comprehension…!

“Your accent sucks, Leon…and your choice of cologne is hard to forget. You smell like a mid-town hooker! “ Fusco takes another bite out of his fritter, ignoring Leon’s hurt expression as he savors the spicy mid-eastern croquette. “So who’s after you this time - and why are you coming to me instead of Wonder Boy? Isn’t he supposed to be your personal savior?”

Leon eyes the bag in the bench space between he and Fusco, but wisely decides that now is probably not the best time to try to flinch a free lunch. Instead he swivels to the left and then the right, quickly scanning the worn path into the park once more before turning his anxious countenance to the chubby cop.

“Well…ah…yes. Ah…I thought maybe you could help me out this time since John is probably busy“, the little man replies nervously, “And besides he said last time he’d be on vacation if I got in trouble again. I even ended up in the ER last week when he never showed up, so I guess he means it!” Leon’s expression is one of a beaten puppy kicked into a corner.

Fusco smiles, reaching for the second fritter. He knows from past experience that Reese considers Leon’s hero worship an annoying burden and one the former vigilante would much rather do without. How many times now has the big guy had to rescue the little con man?

Since the cop’s relationship with the volatile, now NYPD detective, aka Man in a Suit, has always been somewhat rocky - the taller man either ignoring, threatening, or sneering at him - Fusco is only too eager to balance the scales occasionally.

_And this is just too good an opportunity to pass up!_

“Oh, you could probably call him now. It’s been, what, months, since he said that? I’m _sure_ he wouldn’t mind rescuing you again.” He finds tweaking the tiger’s tail occasionally perhaps a dangerous, but a very satisfying experience!

“Yeah, well… No. There’s a bit of a problem you see,” Leon replies in a small voice. “I can’t really go to John on this.”

Fusco stops in mid bite, glancing at the nervous little man. Leon is a basket case with a nervous twitch that could register on a Richter scale. Where normally the con artist has great faith in his “hero” showing up to bail him out, this time Reese is evidently not his first choice for the White Knight role.

“What did you do, Leon?” he asks, taking another bite and narrowing his eyes at the con man.  
But Leon refuses to make eye contact and now it’s Fusco’s turn to get nervous. Whatever the little man has gotten involved in, it’s not good.

“I kinda lost his dog…”

“You what!?” The cop almost chokes as he quickly swallows his last bite. The coughing spasm lasts several seconds and is only controlled with a large swallow of soda. Finally he turns to Leon.

“Not my fault!” The words come spilling out, like water burbling out of a too small hose. “I had this really good business going, you know? Kinda legit. Well, mostly. I mean, it could have been…”

Fusco smirks. “What you really mean is you were fleecing some poor sucker and got caught…”

“Yeah,” is the miserable reply as the little man ducks his head. “But honestly, I never meant for the dog to get in trouble. I _like_ that dog! He was my PR you know? Like…like an ad star.”

“Better start at the beginning Leon”, Fusco sighs, stuffing the napkin and his left over falafel back into the bag. He ignores Leon’s pitiful face as the little man watches the half eaten fritter disappear into the sack.

 

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

_To be continued…_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**SEVERAL DAYS EARLIER:**

 

“Yes, ma’am. Ah got tons of references to send you. And Bear’s right friendly and real well trained. An’ you can see from the photo of us together in front of the barracks, he’s a mighty good lookin’ dog.”

Leon eyes a copy of the photo he’d mailed to the boarding kennel a week ago, reminding himself he should really update the picture to include some military desert weaponry in the background…lend some extra credibility to his being a war vet returning from Iraq. And since he’s dog-sitting again for a few days, now is a good time to take some action shots of his canine model!

He continues to study the photo. The dog looks impressive. Bear is front and center in the picture, wearing a cameo body-hugging vest. Very professional; compliments of an internet shop. _You really can find everything on Amazon_!

He also congratulates himself again on locating that online photo of the guy he photo-shopped into the picture. Leon grins…the bad-ass dude actually looks a lot like John Reese: tall, lean, intimidating. And of course good looking! That never hurts with the ladies, most of whom own these businesses he contacts.

“Yes, M’am. Thank you, M’am,” he replies, using his best imitation of a southern accent on the woman on the other end of the line. This particular kennel is located in the Florida panhandle and he’s not sure what kind of inflection is prevalent in that area, but it’s close enough to Georgia and Alabama that it probably wouldn’t hurt to put a bit of a dialect in his speech. Women are just suckers for that “gentleman from the South” drawl!

“Ah’m truly glad to be comin’ home! Ah’m just sorry to be parted from m’ buddy, but Ah need to send him ahead of time so’s to get mah own transport arranged. You see, M’am, the army won’t let’m travel with me, an’ Ah’ll be needing to cover his kennel expenses for a couple of weeks. Ah’ve been OOC for quite a spell so it’ll take a bit to get all mah T & P …uh, sorry…transport and paperwork…finalized to make the move.”

_And thank God for the online glossary of military acronyms!_

Leon listens intently, satisfied that his mark has bought the story and is now gushing with excitement over the arrival of this special “war dog”. Apparently women don’t just go ga-ga over a _human_ male in uniform…!

He continues his spiel and having successfully baited his line, is now ready to reel in his catch. “Ah included the extra $500 you need to wire to the shipping company address Ah gave you, so they’ll meet the transport and deliver him to your kennel. Ah’d rather transfer the money in CONUS than risk it getting lost in the overseas mail. Same reason Ah had a friend mail you my check!”

The con artist listens, now tensing at the suggestion being made. _Time to put his counter arguments in play..._

“Oh, no M’am! No need for that! This’ll be an army transport. It’ll be on a real irregular schedule, and you probably wouldn’t be allowed on Post anyway. I’ll take care of everything on this end…” He stops, remembers he’s supposed to be speaking ‘South’, and makes adjustments going forward. “The shippin’ forwarder Ah’m using does this all the time an’ as soon as they confirm havin’ that deposit, Ah’ll make arrangements to get Bear on the next available flight. Their address is in that there letter Ah sent you...”

He listens for a few minutes more, then relaxes. _Ok, that went well. She’s comfortable with the arrangement again._

“Yeah. That’s right. Good. If you get that there forwarder his money this afternoon, Ah’ll wait to hear from ‘em and meantime start lookin’ around for a proper an’ approved shipping crate for my buddy…” After more babble from the woman about brave soldiers and their wonderful military dogs, and how much his service is appreciated, blah, blah, blah…they say their goodbyes and he hangs up the phone.

His check, after being deposited and routed through several small west coast banks will of course bounce. But by that time, the money the woman forwards will be in the account of one Leon Tao, owner of LTC Freight Forwarding - DBA Lyle Trent. And Trent of course doesn’t accept checks, only moneygrams…

Bear is staring at him, his gaze seemingly unimpressed…and censorious. Leon cocks an eyebrow at the dog.

“What…? It’s just a game, you know? Buyer beware and all that…”

 

“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

  

Fusco sits with his mouth open staring at the con man for several heart beats, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. Then, “Jeeze, Leon. You really are a piece of work, you know that? People buy all that claptrap…actually send you the money?

The con man‘s expression is a battle between shame and pride, the latter eventually winning out. “Yeah, they do! But then I’m really good at this; I’ve collected $2000 already, and all without leaving my apartment!” Becoming belatedly aware his audience is not only un-impressed but is beginning to look thunderous, he adds, “Look, it’s just a case of buyer beware, you know? And my accounting biz really sucks lately. It’s either this or flip hamburgers!”

Fusco struggles to keep his temper under control. It’s the bottom feeders like Leon who help give the city a bad name, and that they feed off the sympathetic emotions of good people infuriates him! He's been willing to overlook some of Leon's past transgressions because the con artist had seemingly limited his trade to the scamming of scammers...but this? Looks like the little man has now graduated from pest to felon! 

_Buyer beware…! What a crock!_

“You know, there’s only one thing that’s keeping me from busting you right now, and that’s that I need to know what happened to the pooch!”

The little man glances around again, then with an earnest tone, “I never meant to get the dog involved! You gotta believe that!”

“Leon…!”

“Ok...Ok! I took him out to the park so I could get some more pictures. Him jumping, running, or something. Doing…I don’t know…military-like stuff.”

“And….?”

The cop’s frustration is becoming palpable, causing Leon’s to trip over his words in his haste to answer. “And how was I to…to…to know that woman’s husband is a retired Army Colonel? And that he has access to all kinds of records?”

The con man looks devastated. Fusco would like to believe the expression is rooted in shame, but knows better: the guy is upset only because he got caught. It’s always the same with these petty cons! “So he found out your alter ego doesn’t exist. Probably did a little digging, got your real name, and….?

“And came to my apartment…” Leon admits in a small voice. “He was there when I got back from the park.”

“He didn’t go to the NYPD first? To Frauds...?” Fusco says.

Leon wrings his hands. “No. Well. You know these military types. They like to solve their own problems…” The little man’s eyes grew round. “He’s a really rather large person. Big. Tall… Badass. Kinda like John.”

“And how did he solve the problem?”

“He took the dog! Said as soon as I turned over the money I’d stolen I could get him back…”

Fusco takes a deep breath. _Ok._ So it’s not as bad as he’d been expecting. At least Leon hadn’t crossed the mob or something, in which case he probably wouldn’t get the animal back…or likely not all of it. Just body parts. But it didn’t make the situation any less dire, as he’s pretty sure Wonder Boy won’t take well the news that Leon put the dog in harm’s way while using the pooch as bait for some low-life scam.

The cop takes a sip of the soda to cool his temper while what he’d really like to do is throttle the little man! Because this…issue…has now turned into two: find the dog and keep John Reese from killing Leon. “Sounds to me like you only have one choice: return the money, and get that animal back asap before Reese finds out.”

The little man remains silent, staring as the sidewalk while he nervously fingers a button on his jacket.

“Leon…?”

“Uh….I…I don’t have that money anymore. I don’t have _any_ cash anymore…”

Fusco gives an audible sigh. “Let me guess. You gambled it away.”

“That horse was going to win! Was supposed to win! I paid a lotof money for that tip!”

And so the scam artist got scammed. Poetic justice…but it still presents a big problem for the little guy! And him. The cop takes another swallow, turning over potential solutions in his mind. _Damn_. He’d like to have something stronger than soda just now. Too bad he’s quit the hard stuff!

“Well, go to the bank and borrow some money…”

“Me? Borrow…are you insane? You think anyone is going to make a loan they know won’t be paid back? Besides, borrowing from a bank is just lame, man! They charge way too much for the temporary use of their money!” Leon is almost shouting, the strain of the last few days weighing heavy, but his burst of energy is quickly deflated, as he adds, “I can probably scrounge up some dough in a couple of days or so, but I’m supposed to give the dog back to that Ms. Shaw this afternoon…”

He leans over, elbows on his knees as he whimpers in a voice muffled through his hands over his face, “John will shoot me and that scary woman will cut out my liver - right after he shoots me!”

Fusco remains silent, slowly draining the soda can. _Yeah. It sucks to be Leon right now…!_

_To be continued…_

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Where’s Bear, Harold?”

“Oh, _now_ he finally notices the dog’s not around? Some responsible pet owner you are!” Shaw snipes as she wipes the last of the river mud from her boots.

Reese raises an eyebrow at the snarky reply, and waits it out. No sense in getting into it with the ex-assassin; he’s learned quickly over the last several months that she likes nothing better than to put him on the defensive, and right now he’s simply not in a mood to play the game. Besides it makes Finch uncomfortable when they squabble…

And in truth he _hadn’t_ worried about the dog’s absence the last couple of days, assuming that Harold had the canine stashed at his apartment while he upgraded their current lair. But his benefactor is here at his customary place in front of a keyboard – and Bear is not.

Finch has now swiveled around to face them both and by the puzzled look on the older man’s face, it’s evident Harold’s as much in the dark on the subject as himself.

Wrong assumption then…

“Weren’t you to take him with you while I rewired this place?” The geek directs his question at the black garbed figure, brow furrowed in the beginnings of worry.

Shaw turns her attention from her footwear to Finch. “Remember those “jobs” I had to do? The ones involving me being the wheelman for a bunch of antisocial smash-and-grab types? Couldn’t very well bring a dog along…” She gives the boots one last swipe and tosses the now filthy towel into the trash bin. “I asked Leon to pet sit for a few days. I’m to pick Bear up this afternoon.”

Finch nods, and apparently satisfied with the answer returns to his keyboard.

“I’ll go get him.” says Reese through tight lips, “And Shaw…? Next time, before you farm the dog out to someone else, ask me first!”

“Sure, Bro!” she replies, sticking a finger in her cheek and smiling sweetly. Reese shakes his head. If this female equivalent to pigtail pulling on the part of Shaw is a sign she actually likes him, then he wishes she didn’t quite so much! He leaves their new den before he says something rash and causes Finch more anxiety.

“Does it give you pleasure to keep jabbing at him Ms. Shaw?" Finch asks after John leaves, his eyes still glued to the monitor, fingers flying over the keyboard. "You might consider giving him some slack. Mr. Reese is not having an easy time of it in his role as a legitimate police officer. He’s spent most of his life being encouraged to get things done by ignoring rules and now…”

“Oh, boo-hoo! He gets to wear a gun and go out and hunt perps! _I_ get to wear friggin’ paint-on dresses, toe-pinching FM heels, and have to play nice with other women’s makeup!”

Finch wisely says nothing and continues to keep his attention on the monitor. He learned long ago there were times that silence is indeed golden…especially when dealing with a frustrated female.

 

“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

“What do you want Fusco? A little busy right now…!”

Reese squeezes his phone between chin and shoulder as he clears various folders off the driver’s seat in preparation to fold himself into the cruiser. The phone keeps slipping and he thinks how he much prefers the ITE devices his former employer supplies. Not only does Finch’s voice keep him company, but he can have all his conversations hands free.

“I’m in the garage elevator. Wait for me…” is the detective’s reply.

“Look, I have a personal errand to run and I'm already late. Only came back because the Captain insisted I pick up these damn cases!”

_Click…_

_What the…! The cop hung up on him…!_

Reese frowns at the cell phone before slipping it into his pocket. His pet detective has gotten rather disrespectful since becoming his partner. The time may have come to reinforce the pecking order! With a grunt of disgust, he leans into the car, tossing the last of the folders into the back seat…just as the passenger side door opens. The ex-op instantly backs out of the vehicle, moving his gun from the small of his back to his hand and in the same motion trains it on the intruder over the top of the car.

“Whoa, Kemo Sabe! It’s just me!” Fusco says hurriedly, removing his fingers from the door handle and holding up both hands in the universal sign for surrender.

“I haven’t time for this Lionel!”

Reese returns the gun to his back and sliding into the driver’s seat, glares at his partner through the open door way. “Now shut the door and get your own transportation!”

“You’re my partner aren’t you? And surely you’d give your partner a ride…” Fusco settles himself into the passenger seat and slams the door. “Besides, you may need me on this.”

Reese gives the chubby cop a quick glance, then starts the car and proceeds out of the garage. Once on the street he finally responds. “How do you figure? This is personal. You don’t even know where I’m going.”

“Yeah. It’s personal. And I know just where you’re going,” the cop smirks, buckling himself into the car to silence the annoying alarm. “To pick up your dog.”

The ex-op is silent for seconds. Then, “You’ve talked to Leon…”

“I have. And that’s why I need to come with you.”

A few more seconds tick by as Reese increases his speed, or at least as much as the traffic will allow. The cop cringes when the taller man races through a green light, barely missing a pedestrian attempting to jaywalk against the signal. When the question is asked, it’s in that scary whisper that brings back painful memories for the chubby cop.

“What’s happened to Bear?”

 _Now see, this is why he has to come along!_ And this is why he’s always a bit leery around Reese: the guy is just so damn quick to connect the dots! It’s obvious someone’s got to defuse this situation when his now partner and the con artist meet, because dollars to donuts, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deadly will break all the rules again when he hears about the dog – which will probably include plummeting Leon into next week!

“Nothing that I know of…” he hedges, hoping Reese doesn’t simply stop and push him out the door. For all that the man says he’s trying to play nice, Detective Riley still pretty much picks and chooses which rules to follow. And it’s all too clear that he much prefers to work solo.

Fusco’s former partner considered the Man in a Suit a vigilante, a one man army making war on the city perps. A lone wolf. But that’s really the wrong animal, he thinks, as the ex-op smoothly straddles the traffic lanes and slips the cruiser between two box trucks.

Reese as more like a shark in open waters: sleek, sly, stealthy. And deadly. A top-of-the-food chain predator, gliding effortlessly among the commoners, fully confident any prey he hunts is his, and with good reason. An efficient killing machine that rarely gets ruffled…until there’s blood in the water!

And for Reese ‘blood in the water’ means a threat to those he considers under his protection.

The chubby cop knows of three instances in which the guy got “ruffled”: two his former partner had shared with him, and one he’d witnessed himself as Reese went after that slime-ball Simmons. Those few the guy safeguards would naturally include the dog since he’d made the express effort to acquire the animal to provide a protector and companion for the Professor.

Yeah, Leon is definitely in trouble!

And Fusco hasn’t a clue as to how to get a handle on this situation…

 

“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

 

“Well now. This is interesting! Do you know where John is, Harold?” Shaw asks after making impressive inroads with one bite into the Snickers bar. She licks her fingers where the creamy caramel has coated them.

Finch looks up, startled out of his logic train by Shaw’s question. He swallows an offensive retort, as now he’ll have to start at the beginning again. But no sense biting off her head; she has no idea how complicated it is to rebuild a phone database while staying off Samaritan’s radar. He sighs, and erases the data trail to the beginning.

“I assume he’s at the precinct. Probably took Bear with him…”

“Then why is he on his way to Pensacola?” She places a finger on the laptop’s display, causing the geek to cringe at the vision of possible chocolate smears left on the screen.

Finch blinks, focuses on her question and then awkwardly gets up from the computer station to join Shaw at the auxiliary table. The lap top image displays a map showing a moving red dot in the Florida panhandle. A glance…and he straightens up quickly.

“You have a tracker on him!” He says in an accusatory tone.

“Yeah. So?” Shaw shrugs lightly, taking another bite of chocolate. “He had one on you for a long time.”

“John…?”

“Uh-huh. In your glasses, until Root smashed them.” She leans closer and zeros in on a stretch of highway. “So what’s Captain America doing in Florida? And now he’s off the main interstate, going north. What could be out in those woods?”

“A base. A naval air station, I think. But I why…” Finch offers, mesmerized now by that moving dot.

“Well, _I_ think you should call him. We need him here in NYC, and I’m betting this has _nothing_ to do with his either of his jobs!”

Finch looks intently at the woman. Why does he always get the impression her suggestions are part and parcel of the sibling rivalry he senses whenever the two are around him? Or is she just envious Detective Riley has the freedom to move around while she’s tied to that department store job… He turns back to the laptop screen with its little red dot zipping along a state highway.

And what is going on with John anyway…?!

  

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

“You know,“ says Fusco from the front seat, “I’ve counted at least 4 violations since we left the city. Not the least of them is stealing this car.” He knows his voice has taken on that whining component he finds so irritating in their back seat passenger, but it’s at least an hour past lunch time - as his stomach has been reminding him for the last so many miles.

His partner has been pushing them along all day, only reluctantly stopping for the necessary potty breaks and all the while grousing at them to “get on the same schedule”. The only sanctioned stops so far have been to load up the gas tank. Well, at the next stop _he’s_ going to load up on some stale sandwiches at the station’s Stop-n-Rob. And maybe some of those big pretzels…!

“The kid wasn’t using it. And by the time he got out of that club, he was going to be too drunk to drive anyway. I’m doing him a favor. Try to think of it as a public service.”

Fusco shakes his head. Typical Reese. Knowing the NYPD cruiser could be easily tracked, he’d simply ‘acquired’ another set of wheels. And the guy will get away with it too, though it’s a out of sync step from his behavior the last few weeks; the portly policeman had sensed far more caution in his new partner’s actions since that high profile shooting in the city not long ago. Detective ‘Riley’ really _had_ seemed to be trying to work within the bureaucratic frame work of the NYPD…but this?

This is ‘Man in a Suit’ behavior all over again!

In a way he can sympathize, knowing a big part of the problem for his partner is the existence of all those rules and red tape. And having a Captain breathing down your neck on each case. _Yeah, well, welcome to my world, buddy_ …

“So you’re thinking of reporting me, Lionel?”

“Like that would do any good. You’d find some way to charm yourself out of any trouble!” he grumbles. His stomach thinks his throat is cut and right now he’s more than irritable. “And tell me again why we’re driving? The Captain’s not going to buy our being on a stake-out for more than a couple of days or so.” He turns to the side window, watching the landscape race by. “We should have flown…”

“On whose dime?” Reese asks. “Leon is broke. I don’t have that much cash. And all you can offer is a low limit credit card. And you need to be saving for your son’s college education, remember?” He narrowly misses a pickup as he fast tracks past a mini-van and slips into a space between two 18-wheelers.

Fusco grabs the oh-shit handle and tries not to bite his lip. “You keep this up, and we’re not going to get anywhere alive! Maybe we should re-think this…!”

At this point Leon, who had been staring miserably out of a side window, moves to the edge of the seat and inserts himself into the conversation.

“I think that’s a good idea. We should all go back to the city!” he offers before making the mistake of glancing at the rearview mirror. Reese is looking at him and Leon wisely moves back on the seat. “Or maybe not…”

........................

Leon remains silent for a while, counting the telephone poles as they zip past the window. But that queasy feeling is soon threatening to end in full blown motion sickness, so he leans back and switches to counting the passing 18 wheelers through the front windshield. The ensuing hour crawls by like a sick cockroach, until he simply can’t stand it anymore!

“Do we really have to do this?”

“Yes!” The two detectives reply in unison. “And if you ask one more time if we’re there yet, I might just come back there and throttle you!” adds Fusco.

The con man shrinks even further into the backseat upholstery, allowing his misery full rein. This definitely won’t be counted as one of his better days. In fact this whole week is turning out to be an event designed entirely in Hell!

First a visit from Mr. Big and Tall…and Very Intimidating. Then from John and his chubby partner. That had been the worse! He’d always had a healthy respect for his personal rescuer, but wow…for several brief moments he’d wondered if he was ever going to leave his apartment alive!

After enduring those scary few minutes – which seemed like _hours!_ \- during which John interrogated him on every detail of his “business operation”, he was stuffed not so gently into the back seat of the police cruiser and then this SUV. And now here he is, being taken on a road trip to some backwoods banjo country!

_...and where did John get this car anyway? It smells like beer! And what’s going on - his savior is now a bona fide NYPD Detective? When did that happen?_

So many questions he’s too fearful to ask. The few attempts he’s made to engage the tall guy in conversation concerning those new developments have been quickly shut down with one of the big guy’s killer stares.

This is _so_ _not_ his idea of a pleasurable road trip! First, riding in the back seat of a car really sucks; second, his companions are treating him like he’s a potential Ebola patient; and third…well, there’s a third in there somewhere. Oh, yes. He’s a city boy; he doesn’t do “country”!

But trying to convince these two how this excursion is just a bad idea has gotten him nothing but that glacial stare from his hero. And oh man! The guy could freeze the balls off a brass monkey with one of those looks alone! The chubby cop is of course no help at all.

Leon is ready for this journey to come to an end, though he’s still not sure what end that will be. Hopefully it’s not his…

The trip so far has been mind numbingly boring with the two detectives sharing driving duties. He’d gotten a unified “No!” to an earlier suggestion to help with that task, but what did they think he’d do? Hijack the car? Like he’d ever had the chance! He is being watched like a couple of hawks observe a mouse – he being the mouse - and one wrong move will have his captors swooping down on him!

In fact that already happened once…

He’d been paired with John for their one night stay at a no-name motel, a place memorable only for its lack of amenities. Like what motel didn’t offer a mini-bar these days?! And that the two men had argued over who would be stuck sharing a room with him was just one more affront to his already battered ego!

“Why can’t I have my own room?” he’d whined, after the trio had checked into the aging establishment. “Don’t you trust me?”

That question had got another cold look, the answer rather obvious. So he’d endured being treated like a child and had obediently eaten his pizza, valiantly ignoring the cockroach that ran across the floor from the closet to hide under the cheap desk.

He’d then showered, put on his dirty underwear again – which felt _so_ wrong! - and crept into one of the beds while John used the facilities. Despondency was a wet sheet clinging to him as he lay there, listening to the running water behind the cardboard thin bathroom door. Could he feel any more depressed…?

But the need to take control of his situation had overcome his misery. He’d slipped out of bed and quickly dressed again, and like a school boy escaping overly strict parents, quietly let himself out the door.

Like he’d informed Detective Fusco, he was completely without funds. Broke, bankrupt, busted… And while he would normally have had no compunction in…borrowing…some money out of his current roommate’s wallet, he wasn’t wholly without a sense of self preservation. Considering the identity of this particular roommate, that kind of petty larceny was not something he was willing to attempt!

So he’d managed to sneak out of the room with the vague idea of tracking down a taxi somewhere to get him back to the city, with a hope the driver would accept a credit card… He’d made it all the way to the sidewalk and was considering the best way to approach the clerk at the front desk when his escape plan fell apart.

“Going somewhere, Leon?” The whispery voice was right in his ear as he’d stood just outside the main building, surveying the entrance to the motel’s front office.

“Eeeek…!”

“You sound like a girl, Leon.” The man was fully dressed. _How did the guy do that?_ He hadn’t left the room more than a few minutes before, and the shower was still running!

So Leon had been picked up by the collar and goose-stepped back to the room, and as it was very apparent his keeper was not a happy camper, the little man had wisely kept his mouth shut…until John handcuffed him to the head board of the bed.

“What if I need to go to the bathroom during the night?”

“Guess you better hope you don’t.”

Which of course had just guaranteed that he did…

 

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

“Right here.”

Fusco looks up from his phone and points at the next intersection. “The address should be at the end of that road,” he adds, as Reese turns the SUV off the main thoroughfare.

The private drive is graded and well maintained, with a high center sloping toward the edges so water can run off into a shallow ditch on each side. Their vehicle crunches noisily over the crushed granite topping, tires snapping and popping as though munching through a breakfast cereal.

The road winds past an open pasture but soon widens into a spacious area with parking spots clearly defined via garden timbers. A flagpole situated at the edge of the lot sparkles in the sun, the National, and below it the State flag, swaying gently in the soft breeze.

 _All in all, well maintained_ , thinks Fusco. It bodes well for the professionalism he expects they’ll find: folks who take their business seriously tend to take care of their facilities. Reese pulls the SUV into a parking spot, a few spaces removed from several pickups, their cargo beds full of crates and other training paraphernalia.

“Not bad”, the cop observes, surveying the area. His partner has parked the car close to what appears to be a well cared for residence, with Knockout roses blooming with abandonment in the front yard. “Someone’s dropped some dough on this place…”

He notices a second building bordering the far side of the parking area, the chain link runs sprouting out on either side pronouncing it to be a kennel of sorts. From this distance he can only see shadows move inside the runs, but dogs obviously...and he wonders if one of them is Bear.

To the right of the kennel is a large grassy area containing what he assumes are training aids: A-frames, scaling walls, jumps, a tunnel…with several observers gathered at the fence watching a handler put a dog through its paces.

He throws a quick glance at the backseat to check on their charge, but Leon has his face pressed to the window, all his attention on a man now exiting the large one story kennel. Fusco turns around to follow the con-man’s line of sight. _Big and Tall….!_ Yep.The little man was right.

Leon moves swiftly away from the car window, scrunching down as far as the bench seat allows.

“I think that’s our guy,” offers Reese, as he and Fusco exit the car and close the doors on the vehicle. Both men ignore the con man in the backseat attempting to become one with the leather upholstery. No worry about Leon attempting to escape this time; the little man is so frightened he’s close to fainting!

Fusco watches the new arrival on the scene traverse the short distance from the outbuilding to the parking area as he and Reese head toward the kennel to meet their man. The guy is dressed casually in jeans and a work shirt, but his carriage, his entire demeanor presents a far more formal persona than the clothes suggest. It takes a few seconds to analyze, to recognize why he finds the stranger curiously familiar.

Ah, yes. _He walks like Reese…_

“Gentlemen. What can I do for you?” The stranger’s voice is as gravely as the driveway as he approaches the two detectives, but the authority in that tone is hard to miss. The ramrod posture, the short haircut, the direct eye contact… _Military_ , thinks Fusco. So this must be the Colonel the little con man mentioned.

He gives Reese a silent glance. This is now his partner’s show and given that the man before them looks like he could be a formidable adversary, he’s more than happy to let his former nemesis take the lead. He’s also pretty sure Wonder Boy has already read the man for what he is. Like recognizes like...

“Well, I’m hoping you can help me with a rather unique problem,” Reese replies.

Fusco notices Detective Riley has now slipped into his best non-confrontational role as he pulls back his jacket to reveal a NYPD badge. “Detective Riley. NYPD… And this is Detective Fusco.”

The stranger's eyebrows raise but he remains silent for several seconds as he surveys the two men before him. Acknowledging first the chubby cop, he then slowly extends his palm to Reese, “Ed Brockman. My wife runs this place. I’m retired now. At her beck and call…” His smile is brief and tight.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir. What division?” Reese asks, shaking hands with the former soldier.

“INSCOM, out of Belvoir. Mustered out just last year. And you?”

 _Yep,_ thinks Fusco _, like recognizes like._  
Seeing the two ex-soldiers stand opposite each other is like viewing two peas in a pod…well, maybe more like two pods from the same plant. In any case, though the Colonel has a decade and thirty pounds on Mr. Deadly, the similarities between the men is obvious. Same posture, same attitude, same shuttered expression… Warriors.

And now he wonders what tale Reese will fabricate as his partner had better be careful if this Colonel really does have access to military records!

“Delta. And then a stint in the CIA”.

The cop almost smiles. _Ah, yes. Smart_. The old soldier will know it’ll be tough to get accurate data on a spook! John Riley is not a true identity, but then most likely neither is John Reese. Wonder Boy has probably had so many aliases he doesn’t even remember his real name any more! Much like the Professor…

“So what brings you to Millington?” The Colonel steps back and folds his arms over his chest.

“You were recently the victim of a scam involving a dog, sir. And I believe you have that canine currently in your possession,” Reese explains calmly, adjusting his jacket over his badge. “Unfortunately, the scammer didn’t own that dog…’

“Yeah.” The Colonel nods his head. “Thought as much. Way too fine an animal to belong to that sleaze ball.” He jerks his head to the side, indicating the building behind him. “Military trained. And well done too.”

“We’ve already picked up the offender, and all monies will be returned to their rightful owners,” says Reese smoothly.

Fusco barely stops himself from gaping at the taller man. He’d forgotten the Man in a Suit was always a talented manipulator of the truth. Evidently being employed by the NYPD hasn’t negated any of that skill…or the willingness to use it.

The Colonel gazes past the two detectives at the shadow barely visible in the SUV. He nods again.

“We didn’t lose any money on his scam. My wife had me check the validity of that so called soldier’s identity before she even cashed the check. And a good thing.” The Colonel motions the detectives to follow him as he moves back toward the outbuilding. “I wasn’t sure the animal even existed, but since I had business in New York anyway, I decided to pay the gent a visit.”

“And then took the dog back with you…”

The Colonel snorted. “Couldn’t see leaving a fine K9 like that in the hands of that miserable scum. “

“So why didn’t you just go to the police with this?” Fusco asks, as he follows the two men to the building. “NYPD has a Frauds department…”

The old soldier stops short of the entrance to the building and turns, steely eyes drilling into those of the cop. Fusco feels a familiar apprehension…what he has come to recognize and label in his head as a Man-in-a-Suit-inflicted-anxiety…

“The police can’t even keep rapists and murderers off the city streets. You really think this sleaze ball would ever see the inside of a cell for more than a night?”

Fusco has an angry retort on the tip of his tongue, but damn it…the man is right! Leon is just not a big enough fish to fry, to waste resources on. A slap on the wrist, a big fine, and the little con would quickly be thrown back into the pond, likely back at his apartment before breakfast. The cop doesn’t like it, but he knows that it’s a reality for any large urban center.

They enter the kennel to a sudden cacophony of barking, snuffling, and whining. The Colonel moves into the building just enough to allow his guests to enter behind him and then the yells _“stil..!”_ The order thunders off the walls and silence ensues as abruptly as the noise had started.

 _And that’s why the old soldier’s voice sounds as gravely as it does_ … With an overall amazement at the animals’ quick response and admiration for the high level of training that kind of instant obedience demonstrates, Fusco continues to follow the two ex-soldiers. But the Colonel’s command to the dogs also reminds him uncomfortably of a past scene with Wonder Boy…

 _“Oh good. I call, he comes. Now if I could just train him to stop trying to kill me.”_ Sometimes he’d felt that the Man in a Suit had an invisible leash on him…

He notes the kennel is built much along the same design as the building utilized by the NYPD mounted police: a wide single center aisle is bordered on each side with large individual kennels, each having access through a “doggie door” to an outside run. At the end is an entry to what he supposes is a storage and food prep area.

“Nice facility,” observes Reese, his eyes traveling over each kennel space they pass, obviously looking for his dog. Some of the canines are Shepherds, thus easily eliminated from his search. But many are Malinois, though none sport the familiar Elgos white chest patch. Is Bear even here?

Then suddenly, in the end kennel, one dog goes berserk, barking and jumping against the chain link gate.

“Looks like he knows you…” says the Colonel, his eyes speculative as he opens the kennel gate. With a single bound Bear is out of the confined area and launching himself at the tall man, very clearly overcome with joy at seeing the human, this particular human.

The Colonel watches silently as man and dog greet each other, then grabs a leash hanging on the gate and hands it to Reese. “Always glad to see a dog reunited with his handler…” he offers with a tight smile.

Fusco also watches the reunion with a satisfaction. Looks like everything’s going to work out OK. No shoot outs, no body count… It’s a good ending! Except what will they do with Leon now?

As the men exit the building with Bear bouncing at Reese’s side, the Colonel comments, “You’ve got that little weasel in the back of your car I assume?”

The detective nods, the question in his eyes unspoken. The Colonel remains thoughtful for a few seconds, then rubs his lip, before continuing. “I understand it makes no sense booking him into your precinct when you know he’ll be out in hours. But I hate to see that con get a free ride without any consequences for his actions.”

Reese glances at the SUV, watching the shadow sink even further below window level. Leon has probably guessed the conversation is about him. And a small smile plays across his face.

“I think I may have an idea you’ll find appealing…”

 

EPILOGUE

 

“That’s such a good dog…yesss….”

Finch shakes the small container and offers Bear another cookie as the animal continues to salivate on his shoes. The fact that the geek hasn’t even noticed the transgression is testimony to the emotion inherent in their reunion.

“Huh. You don’t want me to give him treats…but it’s all right if you do?” Shaw protests.

Between the two team members, Bear had been petted, stroked, and fed an exorbitant number of doggie treats. It seemed to Reese the two humans were competing for who could give the dog the most exuberant welcome home - and said dog was only too willing to serve as judge!

Any uncomfortable discussions with his former boss resulting from the ex-op’s explanations about the prolonged absence and all that had occurred, had been fortunately mitigated by the dog's obvious joy at being “home” again. That and the pseudo competition between Finch and Shaw to have Bear show a preference for the offered treats…

“These are healthy treats, Ms Shaw, especially made with natural ingredients,“ Finch replies as Bear licks the last crumbs from the human’s hands. “Not the questionable cheap imports you seem to favor.”

“And Bear seems to favor…”

Finch scowls, then silently acknowledging the dog _is_ rather un-discerning where foodstuffs are concerned, he drops the subject and turns to his part-time employee.

“So what happened to Leon? Did you bring him back with you?”

Reese grins, the image of Leon being hauled back into the dog kennel by the rather big and tall ex soldier a very satisfying one.

“Oh, he stayed behind to enjoy the amenities with the other…er…guests.”  He reaches down to fondle Bear’s ears before continuing.  
“The Colonel will put on him a bus to the city in a couple of days, though for the sake of the other passengers, I hope Leon gets hosed down before that trip!”

  

_End_

 


End file.
